Out
by csiAngel
Summary: She stills, unable to identify exactly what it is she feels upon seeing him...


Title: Out  
Author: csiAngel  
Rating: K+  
Disclaimer: I do not own Orange Is the New Black  
Summary: She stills, unable to identify exactly what it is she feels upon seeing him...  
A/N: I haven't yet watched all of season 6. I'm not even sure I ship this. I'm not even sure if I like the character of Sam. But, there's something about his friendship with Red, and this scene wouldn't leave me alone. Now, at least, it's out of my head.

… … …

She has her arms wrapped tightly around Vasily – the relief; the joy; the fear she will never admit to, all poured into this first hug as a free woman. It is then that she sees him. Close enough to be clear that he is there to see her, but far enough away to give her privacy with her son. She knows that she stills in her son's embrace, unable, among the heightened emotions already swirling in her head and heart, to identify exactly what it is she feels upon seeing him. But whatever it is, it stops her. It causes her to drop back; to take Vasily's face in her hands and ask him for just a moment. Her son frowns but grants her wish, and she suspects that she is watched as she slowly approaches her old - How to describe what they were to each other? It should not be anything even near the level of 'friend', and yet anything less doesn't seem to do it justice. Friend will do, when Vasily asks.

He takes a couple of steps closer as she approaches. He looks good. He looks relaxed. She finds herself relieved to see that.

For a while they simply stand in silence, observing each other; absorbing each other. This moment would have been strange enough had it occurred at the height of their acquaintance. Now, years later - years after their last conversation - it seems so unlikely to be happening at all. Yet. Here they are.

Eventually he speaks softly and she realises she has missed the sound of his voice.

"Congratulations," he offers.

"I'd started to think this day would never come," she admits, and if he reads a double meaning in her words, then perhaps it is because that is what she intended. She finds herself unable to find out, though, so continues quickly, "… You look rested, Sam."

"I feel rested… It - I had a lot of work to do. To get from the man I was to the man I want to be. I think I'm… closer."

"You're happier?" It's the closest she can come to asking if his interrupted attempted suicide the night before they last saw each other was the only attempt; would be the only attempt.

He understands her perfectly. "I'm happier."

"I'm glad." And she is. She's had years to wonder what became of him. She tried not to imagine the worst; chose to focus on believing that he sought the help they had discussed; that somewhere out there he was getting on with his life. Although, much of the time, she tried not to think about him at all.

"Can I buy you a cup of coffee?"

She glances, subconsciously, towards Vasily, who is now leaning against his car, pretending not to be watching his mother.

"It doesn't have to be now," Sam adds, reading her thoughts, drawing her gaze back to him. "Just, whenever – _if_ ever – you want to."

She knows that she wants to, but can't shake the feeling that she shouldn't. That too much time has passed. That they never should have found each other to begin with, let alone found their way back to each other now. Their relationship was forged in a bubble that popped a long time ago. They aren't the same people now.

He obviously senses her discomfort. "I just want to thank you. Properly. Galina, you saw the man I was capable of being before I did. I – You inspired me to do better. To be better. You told me once that I helped you… It was the other way round. I want to thank you for that."

The tears in her eyes will not be permitted. She forces them back. Brings forth her resolve. "You just did."

If he reads in _that_ a rejection of his offer of coffee, then, perhaps, that too is how she intended it.

He nods, just once, and she knows what he heard.

"It is good to see you, Sam." She doesn't want him to leave here thinking she wasn't pleased to see him. He needs to understand, though, that this is the real world, now. This is not their world.

"You too," he responds with a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"I should go," she suggests. Dragging this moment out won't make the outcome any different. She _should _go.

His head nods repeatedly this time. "Of course. Of course… Have an amazing reunion with your family."

She smiles, gratefully. "I hope to."

She can't quite bring herself to step away, though, and they fall back into the silence from the start.

She can see the same affection in his eyes that she saw at Lorna's wedding; she can see that same promise for a future outside the prison walls. She can see that he has missed her.

And while she is still drawn to the hope of the first two, it is the latter that is pushing her away. That is the cause of the crushing feeling in her chest, the iron fist around her heart. Because he can't possibly have missed her as much as she missed him.

Because, if he had, this wouldn't be their first conversation in far too long.

"I need to go," she says quickly, turning as soon as the words are out.

She is barely two steps away when he calls out her name and she stops automatically.

"At least let me give you my number – "

She regards him with a sad smile and quietly points out, "Sam… You've known where I was all these years."

He is silent for a moment; she sees sadness, sees regret, sees fear in his face. Then she watches as he appears to draw from an internal reserve of strength to admit to her, softly, "I didn't know where _I_ was."

Heart aching for him now, instead of herself, she turns to face him. "And now you do?"

"I knew it the second I heard you were being released."

"Sam…"

"Please, give me a chance to explain. Then, if that's how our story ends, I'll accept that."

"You'd walk away?"

"I'd let you walk away."

Another silence. A quiet plea from him; a soundless internal battle for her.

"You can explain over that drink."'

He visibly sags with relief.

"I need a few days," she adds.

"I understand."

"But I'll take your number… I _will_ call you."

He pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket, passes it to her. She lets her fingers brush his as she takes it from him. Lets herself feel the spark it elicits, the potential it promises. The ripple of fear at the extent of the unknown here.

"I'll be in touch," she reiterates, tapping the square of paper against her other hand.

"Whenever you're ready."

She nods. She smiles. Then she tears her gaze away from his and walks away.

She slips the piece of paper into her pocket. She wants to believe that she will call him.

She hopes she will.

Time will tell.

THE END


End file.
